


Juste la fin du monde

by awalkinthepark



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal - Fandom, Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, hannigram - Fandom
Genre: BUT TRUE, Implied Cannibalism, M/M, Sex and death, The inevitable end to the relationship, Tragedy, achingly sad, bloody murder, brevity is the soul of wit but this one’s just sad, concise, murder weapon, terse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22804489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awalkinthepark/pseuds/awalkinthepark
Summary: ”I’m just fascinated to know how you will feel when all *this* happens to you.”Inspired by two films, one of the same name as my title and one called “Being with Claude“.Some moments are meant to last forever . . .WARNING: Major Character Death, snuff, sex and death
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Juste la fin du monde

**Author's Note:**

> Makes me cry every time I read it and I’m the one that wrote it. Brutal.

He’d found it in Hannibal’s weapon closet, tucked into a small drawer near the middle. The knife that he’d killed Abigail with. The one that had forced Will to watch her bleed out, to know that it was only ever going to be just the two of them, if they even were going to be . . . anything to each other. 

No one was allowed to come between them again. Hannibal had made that so abundantly clear, with the murder, *her* murder, and the attempted murder of just about everyone else that had been important in Will’s life. And so they had gone gallivanting around the globe together, at first with Bedelia and then by themselves when that particularly drawn-out feast was exhausted. Through countries with and without extradition treaties, just to keep it interesting. 

They were in Glasgow this month, sampling the art at the museum in the middle of the park with the “wee fuzzy coos” (as he liked to tease Hannibal), the air and the light on the Trossachs (which Hannibal went on and on about), and the Scotches from damn near all the distilleries within lunging distance of the city, including some on islands (which they both enjoyed equally). 

They had been studying a particularly colourful French pastel painting in the upper gallery of The Burrell Collection, worth more than most people’s yearly salary back at home, Will’s home. Will could tell that Hannibal was getting tired from his sketching and suggested that he, himself, wanted a last look at the tiny, luminous carved vessel back in the Egyptian gallery. 

“The light would catch it just right at this time of the late afternoon, don’t you think, M?” Will had started calling Hannibal that at some point after their fall off the cliff, a very abbreviated form of Hannibal’s Lithuanian endearment for Will. It helped Will to remember *not* to refer to him by his name, which was more ear-catchingly rare than they could afford as hunted murderers. 

Hannibal answered: “Whatever you need, mylimasis,” packing up his pencils and sketchbook, as quietly and efficiently as ever. They wandered back downstairs hand-in-hand and took in the glow, as elevating as Will thought it would be. Hannibal seemed pleased with the outcome, flashing Will a rare grin with teeth, at their shared delight. He had found himself doing that more and more lately, seeking out small things to please his partner in life and—in other things. 

***  
Hannibal’s roan eyes were almost black with desire as he twisted his long torso and looked over his right shoulder at Will. His lids were hooded over his irises and pupils, making them seem even darker. Will took in the deep, redwood finish of them for the last time. They were both so close and Hannibal probably was wondering a question at him. When was he going to use the knife he had brought to bed with them *this* time?

Not much time left now, unless Will was going for serious orgasm denial and edging this evening, the light already dying in colours outside their balcony windows. Then Will forced himself roughly across Hannibal’s prostate and they were both lost in the slippery feel of each other’s scents and sweat-soaked skin again. 

They’d used knives in bed, out of bed, outside, underwater, even. The results were written over their bodies, both, and in the dips in Hannibal’s bank account balances after yet another call for discrete and discreet emergency medical services. 

It’s not like either of them were close to bleeding out or anything, really. Just to be on the safe side . . . especially when it was Hannibal that was the one that got hurt. Will was perfectly fine taking apart and putting back together the marine engines from their various watercraft over their travels but Hannibal was the one that was best at sewing people back together, with their own original parts back in place or not. 

They were both good at taking people apart, such as that rude Ned on the bus home from the museum this afternoon. He was verbally taking apart his girlfriend on the lower level when he caught Hannibal’s eye. He turned that eye to Will and they followed the man off the bus, waited until he was alone, then did that thing they did so elegantly together, since Hannibal always seemed to have a syringe of something on him. They had a lovely steak and kidney pie for their last night together in Glasgow because of him, with one of Hannibal’s more inventive and beautiful gourmet feats gracing their dining table. 

At the moment that Hannibal starts to orgasm, Will slashes his throat from behind with a great arc of his arm and wrist. Because he knows, he *knows*, it will never be better for them than in this moment, just this one moment.

Will clutches the bloody hooked knife in his hand all the harder as he comes himself, spurting a last time into Hannibal’s quickly loosening body. The black sheets show no sign of the arterial spray, other than a spreading wetness from Hannibal’s quickly leaking life’s blood. The headboard and walls are another matter. 

He continues to huff out more shaking breaths as he holds Hannibal aloft in both arms, tenderly cradling his chin in the crook of Hannibal’s now limp neck. Sheets of red are still coursing down the fur on his chest and dripping down onto the pillowcases. *You would have hated me for soiling the bed so*, Will thinks as he lowers his mate’s torso to the soft bed below them, extricating himself from his lover’s still-warm body. 

“You will not be wasted, mylimasis,” Will chokes out of his raw lips before he hugs Hannibal’s chest and head to him one last time. He gently lays his mate back out on the bed again, wipes his hands distractedly on the sheet beside him, and goes to the kitchen to retrieve Hannibal’s charcuterie knives and a large silver platter. 

“Nothing but the best for you.”

*****

**Author's Note:**

> There is no justice.  
> Just you  
> Just me  
> Just this.
> 
> \- Thomas Berlin, found on signage on a closed bank branch in Canada
> 
> ~Even tigers eventually get old and weary-


End file.
